


cold hands.

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Backstory, Child Death, Hallucinations, Hypothermia, Murder, Starvation, comment the fuck out of this im begging u, do not fret however theyre not really dead. sorta., eska has had a fucked up life, inspired by mental animatic while listening to The Devil and Mister Jones by Voltaire, its a really good song, its only here bc eska is a batim oc, pls tell me if u liked it i need validation to survive, this is BARELY batim related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16141610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: No one else is in the room.





	cold hands.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been.

He doesn’t know if they’re coming back.

He doesn’t know how to deal with the other children.

They come, they go, they’re here, they’re not, he can touch them, he can’t.

He can’t stand them.

It’s their fault.

It’s _their_ fault.

It’s their _fault._

God, if they could just…

 

Agnes is butchered. He cuts him up with a piece of glass he found in the trash, and now there’s just pieces and red water mercilessly staining the floor.

Karpos freezes. He keeps on crying until his skin turns blue and his voice stops coming out.

Silvestro starves. His carcass smells.

 

He sees them, he doesn’t. They’re there, but then they aren’t.

It drives him mad.

And he’s still waiting.

For what, he doesn’t know.

God, God doesn’t exist, no matter what he sees, he knows He doesn’t exist, because there were so many times He could have showed up and held him and helped him like he’s been told God does, but He never did, and so he never-

 

It comes.

Slowly.

Out of nowhere.

A face of dirty white, filled with holes and a long, long beak-like snout and strange dark twisted branches at its sides.

And it comes closer, closer, closer, with the blue darkness of the night dragging softly behind it like a blanket until it’s just above him, looking down. It envelops him, hides the corpses from his eyes, raises him up to its sunken nose. He touches it. It feels cool, yet warm.

 

 _“This is your fate, my dear.”_ says the Spirit to him.

 

Its voice is indescribable.

 

_“You’ll be seeked by the millions and great at all tasks, but no one will see who is under the mask.”_

 

Then he falls down, he feels the ground, and it’s cold, it’s so cold it hurts,  _it hurts, make it stop, it’s too cold_  and the Spirit is leaving and he calls for it, he screams gibberish and feels so desperate and he knows it knows that, and it crushes its heart of void to leave him like that.

 

 _“Cover your face, my dear.”_ says the Spirit, sweet as an angel.  _“It’s hot as hell under the bone.”_

 

Its cloak begins fading, the night is ending and it’s. So. Cold.

 

_“And like me, you will be, in a crowd yet all alone.”_

 

When the ram skull disappears and the feverish hallucination finally comes to an end, he’s far away from the room he inhabited, alone and hungry between dumpsters in an alley and with a box on his head.

It’s still cold.

So he works.

He tries all kinds of things, but no matter how hard, tiring, impossible, nothing is able to to free him from the neverending feeling of the dead children’s fingers clutching him.

They’re there, and they’re cold.

And their hands are the coldest thing in the world.

He works, he learns, he freezes, he doesn’t sleep.

He hears the Spirit of Violent Deaths singing lullabies to ease his mind.

And finally.

_Finally._

He works for a carpenter.

He learns to carve and cut wood.

He stays up all night to get a skull out of a bad piece of waste material.

And when he puts it on his face, throwing away the paper bag he’s been trying to help himself with, he feels the flames of hell burst onto his freckled cheeks.

He falls on the floor, wheezing.

He can’t feel their hands.

Finally.

_Finally._

_**Finally.** _

No one else is in the room.

Eska sleeps.


End file.
